


Dreams of Blue

by riventhorn



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Consensual Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith and Lance's relationship with Shiro is platonic, M/M, Mpreg, Nesting, Omega Keith (Voltron), Omega Lance (Voltron), Omega/Omega, Still in space, humans have joined the Galra empire, soft warm nesting feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-02-01 01:29:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12694230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riventhorn/pseuds/riventhorn
Summary: Once a hero to the Empire, Shiro is struggling to survive, fighting in the arena for money and trying to avoid the darkness in his past. Then he stumbles across  two omegas huddled in an alley. They both bear the mark of a dishonorable discharge, the punishment for fraternization between two omegas. He can't turn them away, even though he has nothing to offer them.





	1. Chapter 1

Shiro found them huddled in an alley on his way back from the arena. It was getting late, and a cold, steady rain was falling, reducing visibility even further, but movement caught his eye, and he tensed, turning to assess the threat, still on edge from his fight. His opponent had managed to catch him across the cheek with a long, barbed whip, and the cut still stung and throbbed. He curled his left arm into a fist, heat building, lighting the alley with a dull, violet glow.

There were two of them, crouched on the ground. One was pressed against the wall, face shrouded in the hood of its tattered sweatshirt. Shiro couldn’t make out its species, although it wasn’t very tall. The other was human, younger than Shiro, his wet brown hair plastered against his skull, one hand gripping a small knife. He was shielding his companion with his body. Blue eyes stared defiantly at Shiro, but his attention focused on the tattoo on the young man’s cheek. A purple sigil, and he had never mastered the Galran language, but he recognized this one well enough—the mark of a dishonorable discharge from the Emperor’s fleet. 

“Leave us alone,” the boy said, his voice wavering. “We don’t have any money.”

The other one made an aborted movement, and then doubled over, coughing wetly. The boy turned, worried, keeping half-an-eye on Shiro, still holding out the knife. “Keith? Shhhh, it’s okay. Don’t move.”

The hood fell back a little as the boy tried to ease the coughing, revealing human features but furry, pointed Galran ears. Shiro thought he could see sharp, pointed teeth as well. A hybrid, then. And this one—Keith—also had been tattooed with the mark of a dishonorable discharge. 

"Lance," Keith mumbled. "C-cold."

"I know. I'm sorry." The boy, whose name must be Lance, drew Keith's hood back over his head and then glared at Shiro again.

Sighing, Shiro powered down his arm. “I won’t hurt you,” he said, taking a careful step closer, holding his hands open, away from his body. “Is your friend all right?”

Lance kept the knife pointed at him, eyes wary, inching further in front of Keith. “He’s sick.” His mouth twisted, and then he slowly lowered the knife. “Do you… do you have any change to spare? For medicine?”

The Empire was not kind to those who disobeyed its rules. A dishonorable discharge marked you as a pariah—it would be almost impossible to find a decent job or a place to live. A scan of your identity card would reveal the specific nature of the offense, and if it was particularly bad, that would make your position worse. 

But then, the Empire wasn’t that kind to those who were honorably discharged either. Shiro touched his pocket and the meager winnings he had received today. He didn’t have money to spare, and his apartment was small, cramped, and cold. 

“Do you have any place to go?” he asked. “I don’t think this rain will let up any time soon. If your friend is sick, he needs shelter.”

“I know that,” Lance snapped. Keith whimpered, and Lance put an arm around him, pulling him into his body and tucking Keith’s head under his chin. He crooned a little, the soft, throaty noise of an omega. Keith made a few tired chirps in reply. His eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed with fever. 

Two omegas then. The obvious affection between them answered the question of why they’d been thrown out of the fleet. Fraternization between omegas was strictly outlawed. Any omega who joined the military was assigned to an alpha commander when they were a cadet. The alpha not only trained the omega but would also breed them when they grew older. Relationships between omegas jeopardized the hierarchy and threatened to produce inferior offspring. Alpha-omega pairings were considered the best for producing future warriors to serve the Empire.

He'd had an omega—his lieutenant, Matt Holt. They had been close, Matt handling the technical details while he concentrated on the fighting. They'd been scheduled to have kits within a few years, and the thought of the children that would never be still made him feel hollow. He supposed Matt must have been assigned to a new alpha by now. 

The rain was coming down harder, and he sighed again, crouching down in front of the two omegas. "You can come stay at my place tonight, if you want."

The knife snapped up again, Lance on guard once more. "No offense, but you don't look exactly trustworthy." 

With his worn boots and clothes, the scar over his nose, the prosthetic arm, and the new cut on his cheek clotted with dried blood, Shiro guessed he couldn't blame Lance for that assessment. 

"I swear I won't harm either of you," he said quietly. 

Keith coughed again, his shivers intensifying. Lance wavered, looking between him and Shiro. Then he shook his head, a sharp denial.

He hadn't wanted to do this, hating the questions it would inspire, but.... He reached slowly into his jacket, Lance's eyes tracking the movement, and withdrew the medallion that always hung around his neck. He pulled it off and held it out. "Trust this."

Lance leaned closer, and his eyes widened. "The Blade of Marmora... are you... are you Takashi Shirogane?" 

Shiro nodded. He could see the usual questions in Lance's eyes. What was a person who had been awarded the highest honor Emperor Lotor could bestow doing in a place like this? He had been lauded as a hero for his role in the Revant Campaign. And now....

"So?" Shiro prompted. "Will you let me help?"

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Lance whispered. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t recognize you. If—if you’ll help us, then yes. Please.” The tension eased a little in his body, leaving him hunched, his exhaustion plain. "We made it here on a shuttle a few weeks ago, but then...." His fingers strayed to the tattoo on his cheek. "Keith got sick, and I—I didn't know what to do. I think his heat is coming too, and if we're out here, with no protection." He swallowed, fighting tears. "I'll pay you back—or—or work for you. Or if... if you want… one of us, please take me. Don't—don't make Keith—"

"Lance," he interrupted. "I wouldn't do that to either of you. And you don't have to worry about paying me back. Right now, let's get Keith inside, out of the rain. We'll go from there, all right?"

"Yes, sir." 

He bit back another sigh. "Call me Shiro."

"Yes, Shiro. And thank you." A tentative smile took over Lance's face. "I can't believe we met _you_. I knew every one of your records at the Garrison. Keith and I tried to beat them. Keith did, a couple of times."

Shiro helped him haul Keith to his feet, and they set off down the street. Keith stumbled between them, too delirious from the fever to really understand what was happening. If he'd beaten some of Shiro's records—he must have been one hell of a pilot. 

"I'm a sharpshooter," Lance continued, his voice bright and eager. "Top of our class. We always hoped we'd get assigned to your cruiser. And then...." He faltered. "Uh, well...."

An awkward silence fell. 

“Are you mates?” Shiro asked.

Lance flushed, unconsciously pulling Keith a little closer to him. “Not officially. Keith is being stupid about it. Now that we’re not with the fleet anymore, we could. I want to, and I think he does too. Although maybe, now….” He swallowed and stopped talking, concentrating on guiding Keith over the cracks in the pavement. 

Shiro lived in the third floor of an apartment building that was rundown but clean. He unlocked the door and ushered Lance and Keith inside. They stood there, dripping all over the floor. Keith leaned heavily into Lance, who was nuzzling him and trying to dry off Keith’s ears with the wet sleeve of his coat. 

“He hates getting his ears wet. Don’t you, babe?” He nudged Keith’s cheek with his nose. “Keith? We’re somewhere safe now. It’s going to be okay.”

“Where?” Keith blinked, peering around the apartment, then trying to focus on Lance. “I don’t… feel so good. Lance… please…” 

“I know, I know.” Lance crooned to him again, putting his arms around him and looking expectantly at Shiro over Keith’s shoulder. 

“Take your shoes off, and then bring him into the bedroom,” Shiro said. “I’ll sleep on the couch, don’t worry,” he added, when Lance hesitated, doubt flashing over his face. 

Lance nodded and bent down to untie Keith’s scuffed boots. Shiro went into the bathroom, took a few dobashes to clean off the cut on his cheek, and then assembled every towel he owned. 

When he came into the bedroom, Lance and Keith were standing together, both dressed in the same grey t-shirt and black pants that were the standard off-duty uniform in the fleet. Their feet were bare, and he could see tufts of violet fur sticking out the bottom of Keith’s pants. 

Lance immediately grabbed a towel and started rubbing Keith’s hair. Keith tried to bat him away, scowling, but his movements were weak and ineffectual. 

“None of that now,” Lance scolded gently. “You need to dry off. And then you can rest, okay?”

“Can do it myself,” Keith said, brows furrowed. 

“I know you can. But let me, huh?”

Shiro stood off to the side, holding the towels. He wanted to take one and dry off Lance’s hair and wrap it around his shoulders. But it seemed too intrusive, and Lance was skittish enough already. After a moment, he put the towels on the bed and went to his dresser, taking out two pairs of underwear, socks, pants, and the plain sweatshirts he wore when he went jogging. 

“Here.” He held them out. “They’ll be too big for you both, but they’re dry.” 

Lance’s face brightened. “Thanks, Shiro.” He started to slide his wet pants off, and then stopped, flushing. “Uh….”

“I’ll go see what medicine I have,” Shiro said. “And if there’s any canned soup.”

He took his time, alert to the quiet words in the bedroom as Lance coaxed Keith into the dry clothes. Luckily, he had some pills that should help with the fever. He set them on the kitchen table along with a glass of water. There wasn’t any soup, but he had bread to toast and a creamy, cheese-like spread to go on top. He’d picked up some sweet red fruits in the street market yesterday too. 

He heard Lance and Keith come into the room, but didn’t turn around until he had the plates of food in hand. They were both sitting at the table, and Lance had pulled a chair round so he could sit right next to Keith, who was staring at Shiro, his eyes clearer and more cognizant than earlier. The pills were gone, and the glass of water empty. 

“Who is he?” Keith asked. “Where are we?” 

Lance grinned. “You won’t believe this, babe, but that’s _Takashi Shirogane_. For real! Isn’t it awesome? He’s letting us spend the night in his apartment!”

“Hi, Keith,” Shiro said, putting the food in front of them. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Keith was gaping at him, his ears standing up straight and quivering. His eyes were a beautiful mix of purples and grays. “ _You’re_ Captain Takashi?”

“He says we should call him Shiro,” Lance said. 

“Shiro,” Keith repeated quietly. Then his hand fisted in the sweatshirt, his face going red. “Are these _yours_?”

Lance laughed. “Yep. You’re wearing his shirt _and_ briefs, I might add.”

Keith’s blush intensified. “We’ll wash them, Shiro.” He sounded mortified.

Shiro couldn’t help the smile. It felt odd on his face and rusty from disuse. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“That smells amazing, Shiro,” Lance said, sliding the plates closer. “Here, Keith. Try eating something.”

Lance ignored his own food, watching closely as Keith nibbled on the fruit and took some bites of the sandwich. “Eat a little more,” he urged. “It’ll help.”

“My stomach hurts,” Keith confessed, his ears flicking down. 

“Is it easier to eat the fruit? You can have mine.” 

“You’re hungry too,” Keith protested. “You didn’t eat anything yesterday.”

“Never mind that.” His voice grew softer. “Your heat’s coming, isn’t it? You need to build up your energy.” 

“My stomach hurts,” Keith repeated, and he put down his fork, then pushed his face into Lance’s neck. 

Lance’s arms went around him, his face crumpling with distress and guilt. “I’m sorry, babe. Do you want to try and sleep?”

Keith nodded, and Lance looked at Shiro. “Can he….?”

“Of course,” Shiro said and watched as Lance helped Keith into the bedroom. He sat down at the table after a moment. 

They both seemed so young. Too young to be homeless and abandoned. And their interactions—Keith seeking comfort from Lance and Lance’s obvious protectiveness—it made something ache, deep in his chest. 

Lance reappeared and sat down at the table. He ate the food, quickly, hardly pausing in between bites. “Sorry,” he said, glancing at Shiro and then back down. “I was just, really, really hungry.” 

Shiro realized he was hungry himself, that Lance could use more to eat than just a sandwich and some fruit, and that they needed to find something for Keith. He stood up, chair scraping over the floor. “I’ll go out and get some more food.”

“You don’t have to,” Lance said. He cleared his throat. “I… I don’t want us to be a bother.”

“You’re not,” Shiro said. The least he could do was make sure these two boys, who obviously hero-worshipped him, had enough to eat. 

“Keith likes _gillgi_ noodles. You know, those things from the Trigg System, with the green fish-stuff? He’s weird like that.” Lance wrinkled his nose.

“I’ll look for some,” Shiro said and grabbed his keys and an umbrella before stepping out the door. Out on the street, he popped open the umbrella and then just stood there, looking at the streetlights reflecting off the puddles of water. 

He wouldn’t be able to make Keith and Lance leave tomorrow. Or the day after. He was going to have two omegas living with him, two kids who looked at him with stars in their eyes. They’d find out about the arena. He’d wake them up with his nightmares. They’d be there on the bad days when his arm ached and ached, and he could barely muster the energy to get out of bed. 

And they would look at him and believe that he could help. That he would somehow, miraculously be able to fix things. 

Maybe once, long ago, he would have thought the same. But then the Druids broke him, and he had to leave the fleet, leave everything he had wanted behind. 

But there was no point in thinking about it. It was best not to stop, not to think. He had a mission—finding food. He would do that. And then he would get more medicine and make up a bed on the couch. 

He would do that, and he wouldn’t mind it when the admiration faded from Lance and Keith’s faces. He would be careful not let his instincts start thinking of them as part of his pack. He didn’t have one—couldn’t have one now. They had both been traumatized enough by their experiences with alphas. It wouldn’t solve anything if he started getting overly attached.

He would keep moving, keep doing what needed to be done. It’s what had kept him alive. It was all he could do. 

Shiro took a step forward, eyes fixed on the bright, neon glow of the fast-food shops a few blocks away.


	2. Chapter 2

Soft—a soft mattress and warm blankets, and Lance’s scent, surrounding him. Were they in their nest? No—no, they didn’t have one, weren’t supposed to have one, and when they had tried, very, very bad things had happened. 

Keith shivered, blinking open his eyes as awareness returned. His nose was pressed against Lance’s collarbone, and he drew back, tilting his head up to find Lance already awake and smiling drowsily at him. It stretched the tattoo on his cheek, distorting the dark lines. His own face ached in response. 

“Morning,” Lance said and kissed him on the nose.

Keith made a face and planted a hand on Lance’s chest, pushing him backwards. He hated when Lance kissed his nose. Lance grinned, unrepentant. 

He couldn’t stand looking at the tattoo, so he turned his attention elsewhere, trying to gather his wits and remember what had happened. The bed they were lying in was too small for two people, and the rest of the furnishings were utilitarian and sparse. There were no pictures, no photos. 

Frowning, he touched his forehead. He had been sick—still felt weak and hungry, and underneath that was a building sense of anxiety. His heat was coming. He'd never had one--as soon as he entered the Garrison he went on suppressants. But now those were gone, taken away along with his rank and his bayard and the only place he had ever been able to think of as home. 

He could still hear the sneer in Sendak’s voice as he pronounced their sentence, still feel the steel bands around his arms, holding him down as the machine hummed and the sharp needle pricked his cheek, etching his shame into his skin. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Lance whispered, smelling his mounting distress. “It’s okay.” 

How could Lance say that when it obviously wasn’t? But Lance was always like that, always optimistic, never thinking about the consequences. Lance had been so caught up in his—his stupid flirting and their silly rivalry, too stubborn to admit that they were both omegas and could never be together. And Keith had been weak, had succumbed to the hopes and dreams Lance whispered to him, to the comfort of Lance’s scent and his arms around him.

And now they had nowhere to go, and his heat was coming, and he didn’t know what to do. 

Lance was repeating his name and rubbing circles on his back, trying to calm him down. Keith hissed, his ears flattening. 

“Whoa, okay.” Lance let go, but he looked hurt, which made Keith feel guilty on top of everything else. 

Pushing back the blankets, he sat up, putting down a hand to steady himself as the room spun dizzily. Where _were_ they? 

His ears flicked, catching the sound of another person moving around in the next room. Come to think of it, there was another scent in here—an alpha’s scent. He should have noticed that right away. They couldn’t afford to be off guard, not in a strange place like this, not marked as they were. 

“I get that you’re not feeling well, and that a lot of… of stuff has happened,” Lance was saying, not trying to close the space between them. “But it really is okay. Maybe you don’t remember last night, but we met Shiro—Takashi Shirogane. It’s crazy, but he let us stay at his place. It’s safe.”

Hazy memories filtered back. “What is someone like him doing here, though?” Keith demanded, looking around the tiny room again and then out the window at the drab buildings and the leaden sky. Inlock IV was not a planet anyone would choose to live on if they had any choice in the matter. They were only here because it was the one place they’d been able to afford the shuttle fare. 

Lance shrugged. “I don’t know.” He glanced at the closed door and lowered his voice. “He seemed pretty beat up, like he’d been in a fight. And he has a prosthetic arm now. They never mentioned that in the vids. But it really is him. He showed me his Blade.” 

A Blade of Marmora. Yet another thing out of his reach forever now. 

“You hardly ate anything last night,” Lance continued. “Shiro went out and found some gillgi noodles for you, but we didn’t want to wake you up. I guess they’re not the best for breakfast, but I bet you’d feel better if you ate.” 

“Did you eat?” Keith asked because even though he couldn’t quite remember the events of the last few days, he did know that Lance had been giving him whatever food they managed to scrounge and going without himself. He’d been too sick to protest, but it only made him feel guiltier. And angry at being guilty because he shouldn’t be here in the first place. He should be on their cruiser, in his fighter ship, blazing through their enemies with Lance at his side, backing him up with his deadly precision shooting. 

_That_ was what they were supposed to be doing. And instead they were stuck on this planet, and his heat was coming, and he desperately wanted Lance to be with him for it, but also had the strong urge to punch Lance in the face and scream at him for a varga. 

“The little growl thing you’re doing, babe? Super hot, but it’s making me a tiny bit nervous, not gonna lie,” Lance said, laughing nervously and edging around Keith toward the door. “Let’s go say hi to Shiro and have breakfast.”

Keith took a deep breath, gave Lance a glare, and stalked past him out the door and into the other room. And then he came to a dead stop, and Lance ran into his back because oh quiznak, it really _was_ Shiro.

Shiro was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee in front of him. The front half of his hair was white—the vids hadn’t mentioned that either—and a scar stretched across his nose. A fresh cut marred one cheek. But it was him, and suddenly Keith was ten years old again, watching as Shiro became the first human cadet at the Garrison to beat one of Emperor Lotor’s records in the fighter sims.

“Hi,” Shiro said. He shifted in his chair and cleared his throat. “Are you feeling better this morning, Keith?” 

“Someone’s grouchy because they’re hungry,” Lance said, stepping past him and claiming the seat across from Shiro. “But I think his fever has come down.”

“I’m not grouchy,” Keith muttered, slinking into the chair on Shiro’s left. 

Lance ignored him, reaching out and clasping the bottle of syrup sitting in the middle of the table and drawing it to him with a moan. “Oh my god, are there waffles to go with this? Or pancakes?”

“Pancakes,” Shiro replied, getting up and going to the counter. “I didn’t make them, though. They’re frozen, from a box.” He sounded apologetic.

“I love you,” Lance declared. “I haven’t had pancakes in forever. I can’t even remember the last time I had them.”

Shiro’s mouth twitched, as though it wanted to turn into a smile, but lacked the energy. Keith’s ears flicked back and forth. He gritted his teeth and tried to settle them. 

“It’s like heaven on a fork,” Lance sighed when he’d taken his first bite a few minutes later. 

“You should take some more of this medicine, Keith,” Shiro told him, giving him a pill and a glass of water. 

“Thanks,” he muttered and swallowed the pill, then returned to his pancakes. They were a bit too sweet for his tastes, and he was craving some sort of meat. He supposed he could ask for the gillgi noodles, but it did seem too weird to eat them for breakfast. 

Shiro sipped his coffee, and Lance inhaled the remainder of his pancakes. Keith glanced around the rest of the apartment. It was as barren as the bedroom, and he couldn’t help noticing how worn the cuffs of Shiro’s shirt looked. The silence began to feel uncomfortable, and he met Lance’s eyes, raising his eyebrows. 

Lance gave a quick shake of his head. _No way_ , he mouthed.

Keith scowled and gave him another pointed look. Lance gave him one of his own in return. 

“You can talk, you know,” Shiro said suddenly, and they both jumped. 

Lance ran a hand through his hair. “It was just, uh, well… we were wondering how… I mean why you… ended up here. Not that you have to tell us, of course! You’ve done so much, and we’re beyond grateful. And it’s been, um, seriously cool, just to meet you.”

Shiro cradled his mug in his hands and didn’t meet their eyes. Lance trailed off, the silence even more awkward now. 

“I’m here because this is where I found a job,” Shiro said at last. 

“Oh. Okay.” Lance cleared his throat. “That’s, um, totally normal.”

What sort of job went unanswered. Keith’s ears started flicking back and forth again. Shiro smelled so much like an alpha. It reminded him of Thace. Of Sendak. He remembered fighting against Thace’s hold as Sendak gripped the nape of Lance’s neck and forced him to the ground. 

“Were you going to breed him?” Sendak had growled. “An omega like yourself? Have you no decency?”

A whine built in his throat, but then warm fingers closed around his own clammy ones, and he blinked, coming back to himself to find Lance smiling at him. 

“We’re okay,” Lance said softly, and Keith swallowed, squeezing his hand. 

“Everything all right?” Shiro asked, looking between the two of them. He was taller than Lance and had more muscles, Keith noted. Who knew what that prosthetic arm was capable of doing—there could be some sort of weapon hidden in it.

“It’s fine,” he said aloud. “Sorry. Guess I’m still feeling a little sick.” 

Shiro accepted this explanation and stared back down at his coffee. 

He was nothing like Keith had expected. Not that he had ever given much thought to Captain Takashi Shirogane as an actual person beyond vague dreams of one day meeting him and humbly accepting his praise for being the top pilot in his class and _almost_ matching Shiro’s records in the sims. 

But he had expected someone more… confident and energetic. Not this quiet, grim person covered in scars.

It occurred to Keith that perhaps Shiro was behaving this way because he disapproved of them. Shiro had been born to an alpha commander and an omega subordinate, after all, and raised with the expectation that he would join the fleet and form a similar bond one day. Perhaps he viewed a bond between omegas the same way as Sendak—as something shameful and degraded. 

The pancakes were suddenly much harder to choke down.

“You should stay here for today and rest,” Shiro said to him, and he startled, almost dropping his fork. 

“But….” Lance started, stopped, and finally concluded weakly, “You’ve already done so much.” 

Keith could tell that he wanted to remain here, where it was warm and dry. If they left, Keith didn’t know where they would go either. It would be nice to depend on Shiro, to believe that he really was a hero, just as Keith had always believed, saving them when they needed help. 

But what if Shiro did disapprove of them? What if he was only doing this out of a misplaced sense of duty? He smelled so strongly like an alpha too. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to be scenting an alpha as his heat drew nearer. He wanted a soft, private nest, and only Lance’s scent around him. 

“You both should stay until Keith is better,” Shiro told them. “I don’t mind sleeping on the couch for a few more nights.”

“If it’s really okay, that would be great,” Lance said, a relieved smile breaking over his face. “What do you think, Keith?”

“Sure,” he mumbled and forced himself to swallow the last forkful of pancakes. 

“Good. That’s settled then,” Shiro said, his face returning to its blank, neutral countenance. He stood up and went to the sink to rinse out his mug. “I have to go, but I think I have spare key you can use.”

“Go where?” Keith asked, ignoring Lance’s whisper to “be polite, Keith, jeez.”

“To… work,” Shiro concluded after a long pause. 

“Work,” Keith repeated. “Where do you work?”

“Let me go find that key,” Shiro said, ignoring the question. 

He found the key, gave it to Lance, and then put on his jacket, giving them a few instructions about where the closest grocery store was and that if either of them wanted to take a shower, you had to press the hot water button for at least ten seconds before the system registered it. Then he let himself out the door, and it closed behind him with a click.

“Would it kill you to be more polite?” Lance immediately asked him. “I don’t know if you noticed or not, but we have no money and no prospect of getting some anytime soon. We don’t want him to kick us out in the street.”

“We don’t know anything about him,” Keith argued. “He was discharged almost two years ago, and no one ever got the full story of what happened to him. You said yourself it looked like he’d been in a fight. And he’s an alpha.” 

“He’s _Shiro_. I thought he was your hero!”

“I’m not twelve anymore,” he snapped. “You have to admit he’s acting weird.”

Lance shrugged, scowling, but not able to deny it.

“I don’t like smelling an alpha,” he admitted. “Not after… everything. And what if my heat comes? What if he….?”

“He wouldn’t. He promised.” Lance hesitated. “Do you really think he’s doing something bad?”

“You saw him avoid answering when I asked him what his job is.” A thought occurred to him. “Let’s follow him and find out.”

“Right _now_?”

“Yes, right now.” Keith pushed his chair back and stood up, reflexively checking for his bayard and only finding empty air.

“Are you insane? You were running a fever not ten hours ago. You need to rest, Keith.”

“I’m feeling a lot better,” he insisted. It was true—never mind the sick, coiling tension in his stomach as his heat approached. 

Lance stood up too and crossed his arms. “If someone’s going to follow him, it will be me. Not you.” 

Keith didn’t bother dignifying that with a reply, instead snatching the key off the table and heading for the door. 

Lance yelped and ran after him. “Keith, no—” He put a hand on Keith’s shoulder.

Keith knocked it away—hard. “You don’t get to order me around,” he snarled, every frustration bubbling over. “We did things your way and look where it got us! Fuck if I’m going to listen to you again.”

Lance flinched, recoiling. His eyes fell. He didn’t try to contradict Keith, just took the blow.

Guilt rose up, but it only made him angrier. With an effort, he controlled his voice. “I’m going after Shiro. I’m not going to let some alpha hurt us again.”

“Okay.” Lance’s voice was small. “I’ll come too then.”

“Fine. But we’re treating this like a mission. You follow my orders.”

Lance nodded, head still down. 

Fuck. That wasn’t how he should have handled that. He knew it wasn’t really Lance’s fault. But if he let go of the anger there would only be fear left, and he didn’t want to face it—couldn’t face it. So he didn’t apologize, just let Lance trail after him, the silence stretching thin and strained between them.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn’t remember the Druids taking his arm. Sometimes he tried to recall it, when the prosthetic hung heavy at his side, pulling on his shoulder. But his mind always skittered away at the first hint of the sour taste of fear and the whir of a saw blade.

It must have hurt worse than this, he thought, looking down at the spear point lodged in his thigh, in between the seams of his armor. His opponent pushed, twisting it deeper, and a spreading stain of blood darkened his pants. 

Reaching out, he gripped the haft in his right hand, exerted pressure, and snapped it in two. Then he lunged forward, slamming his shoulder into his opponent, bringing them to the ground. He could have used the prosthetic again for this part, but instead he clenched his left hand into a fist and drove it into his opponent's face. It took three hits to knock them unconscious. He added two more because the crowd liked it. 

They called him the Black Lion because of his armor. The chest plate, leg, and arm protectors were a dull, matte black, but the helmet had been shaped into a stylized lion's head. It wasn't ideal for his peripheral vision, but it was theatrical, which was a necessary component of fighting in the arena. It also kept his identity somewhat hidden. Only the arena master and the on-site doctor had seen his face. If either connected the Black Lion with Takashi Shirogane, they never mentioned it. 

He levered himself to his feet and then reached down to pull out the spear point. The pain spiked, bright and hot. But losing his arm must have hurt more. This wouldn't kill him. He would get it treated here in the arena's medical center. But he would be limping for a few days. He'd need to find some way to explain it to Keith and Lance. 

He'd spent a restless night on the couch, aware of their presence in the next room. Giving up on sleep early in the morning, he had opened the door to check on them and found them curled together in the too-small bed, Keith’s head tucked under Lance’s chin. A steady, thrumming purr came from Keith. One of his ears kept tickling Lance’s nose, and Lance would scrunch his face each time, almost waking but not quite. 

He’d closed the door quietly and gone out to buy syrup and frozen pancakes for their breakfast. 

But he could tell that Keith was suspicious of him and wanted to know what he was doing here on Inlock IV. Probably he was wondering why Shiro hadn’t returned to Earth after his honorable discharge from the fleet. 

He had been to Earth once, shortly after graduating from the Garrison. It had been quiet and pastoral, the huge farms spreading out over the landscape. Earth supplied a large percentage of the foodstuffs for Sector Four of the Empire, and the majority of the planet’s surface was devoted to that task. 

Shiro didn’t know anything about farming. He had lived as a pilot, a warrior. There was no place for him on Earth. 

But he knew plenty about physical combat, about blood, and pain. The fights left him tired, allowed him to catch a few hours of sleep. When he was fighting, the past faded away under the adrenaline. He needed to keep fighting, keep moving. If he stopped, then he would have to think. He would have to remember.

The doctor treated his wounds, stitching the one in his thigh shut. He started readying a syringe to give him a shot for the pain, but Shiro told him no. The doctor shrugged and gave him a glass of some alcoholic drink instead. Shiro downed it with a grimace and then limped down the corridor. He cleaned his armor and stored it in his locker, then went to collect his winnings from the arena master. She asked him how long it would be until he could fight again. A week, Shiro told her. 

It hurt to walk, each step pulling at the stitches in his thigh. Maybe he should have asked the doctor for a crutch. Gritting his teeth, he hobbled down the stairs, jostled by a few Galra going into the arena. The stands were noisy—he could hear the yells and thumps even from out here as the next fight dragged on. 

At the last step, his leg trembled under him, and he pitched forward, grabbing for the railing, missing it, bracing for the impact—

Hands caught him, lifting him back up. He startled, surprised, and then Lance was saying, “Oh my god, Shiro, are you all right? How are you even walking right now? That dude stuck a freaking _spear_ in your thigh!”

“Lance?” He blinked at him, then at Keith standing two steps above them. Keith looked too pale and a bit shaky on his own feet. He looked angry too. “Why are you here?”

“We followed you,” Keith said, and Lance at least had the grace to look embarrassed. 

“You followed me,” Shiro repeated. They’d seen then—seen him fight. Their hero, someone they’d admired, fighting for cash on a grubby, second-rate planet.

“We were curious,” Lance said, scuffing the toe of his shoe along the pavement. “But we didn’t expect—I mean, holy crow, Shiro! You’re a _gladiator_. And no judgement—” He raised his hands, eyes wide, “but the girl sitting next to us said that the fights are sometimes to the death, and that dude with the spear could have skewered you if you’d been a tick slower.” 

Keith descended another step. It made him the same height as Shiro, and he looked him straight in the eye as he demanded, “Why are you doing it?”

His leg throbbed. He wanted to go back to his apartment and lie down. The adrenaline was fading, and he would be able to sleep. “I needed money,” he said aloud.

“But you were an ace fighter pilot,” Keith said, looking confused and troubled. “Wasn’t there something else you could do?”

Shiro shrugged. In truth, he hadn’t tried very hard to find an alternative. Another sharp throb of pain hit him, and he reached out to grasp the stair railing, wincing. 

“Hey, whoa, steady there,” Lance said, putting an arm around him again. “Okay. We can save the questions for later, Keith. Now that we know that Shiro isn’t some crazy, serial killer of an alpha, can we please go back to the apartment? You look like you’re about to keel over too. You should be in bed.” 

“I’m fine,” Keith snapped and then belied that statement by stumbling down the final step. 

“Don’t be stubborn about this. Please,” Lance said in a low voice, and Keith’s defiant expression wavered, his ears drooping. Lance edged closer, Shiro taking a step with him, and got his other arm around Keith. 

“Are you still feeling sick?” Shiro asked him, and then recalled something Lance had said to him when he first found them. “Is your heat coming?”

“Maybe,” Keith mumbled, looking miserable.

“You shouldn’t have come running after me, then. Lance is right, you need to rest.” He sighed. “I understand why you did it, though. I should have told you upfront what I was doing.”

“Okay, great, someone agrees with me for once,” Lance interjected brightly. “Now, I’m thinking a cab might be best here, because I’m strong, but Shiro, dude, you are like, pure muscle and you’re kind of heavy. I think—”

He fell silent, the words dying in his throat as three Galra, dressed in fleet uniforms, stopped beside them. They had been drawing a lot of attention, lingering on the steps like this and talking in loud voices. Shiro should have moved them off down the street. 

Keith and Lance shrank closer together, and Shiro straightened, not for the first time wishing he was still wearing his old uniform. 

One of the Galra wore a captain’s insignia. His eyes flicked between the three of them, then narrowed in on Lance and Keith, dismissing Shiro for the moment.

“Those tattoos mark you as unfit,” he said in a cold voice. “Are you ignorant as to the law?”

Keith bristled, but Lance grabbed his hand and pulled Keith down with him as he went to his knees. Passersby, entering and exiting the arena, cast curious eyes their way but didn’t interfere. Soldiers of the fleet had almost unchallenged authority. No one wanted to risk a censure, particularly not for two tattooed omegas.

“Identity cards,” the Galra commanded.

Lance and Keith held out their left forearms, pushing up their sleeves to bare the skin. The Galra pulled out his scanner and held it over the identity card, technically a microscopic chip, embedded near their wrists. 

He grimaced at what he read on the screen. “Omegas trying to bond. What a waste of two promising service records.” He gestured at the two lieutenants behind him. “Please instruct the omegas in the correct attitude to assume in the presence of their superiors.”

The lieutenants obeyed, putting rough hands on Keith and Lance’s heads and forcing them to bow down, exposing the backs of their necks. 

“You automatically assume this position whenever you see a soldier of the fleet. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Lance said, and a few ticks later, Keith gritted out the same. Their hands were still clasped together, knuckles white. 

“I can hear the defiance in your tone, half-breed,” the captain said to Keith, and he reached down to grip the nape of Keith’s neck, expertly putting pressure on the points that flooded Keith’s body with signals to submit. Keith went limp, emitting a high, distressed whimper. Lance stiffened, fighting against the instinct to help him. 

“I think that’s enough,” Shiro said. 

The Galra’s eyes snapped to him, widening in surprise at a civilian daring to interrupt a military matter. 

“They’ve learned their lesson,” Shiro continued in a quiet, even tone. 

The Galra let go of Keith, and the two lieutenants turned their attention to Shiro as well. “Identity card,” the captain ordered. 

He made a startled exclamation when he read Shiro’s name. “Do these two belong to you?” he asked. “Did you buy them to fight in the arena?”

“No,” he replied. “I only met them yesterday.”

“Well, if you do end up keeping them, you’d be wise to teach them some better behavior. It’s bad enough they’re running around together. The half-breed looks like he’s going into heat.” 

“Of course, sir.” There were many other things Shiro would have liked to have said, but when it came right down to it, despite his past record, he was a civilian now and didn’t have any authority over a soldier. 

The captain nodded, mollified. “Allow me to make a contribution in recognition of your service to the Empire,” he said, and Shiro had to hold out his arm again and allow the captain to transfer a few token credits to his account. 

This had happened to him a few times before, and it always made him feel belittled and shamed, as though he were a pet that should be eager to share a few scraps of its master’s glory. 

He could tell Lance and Keith were ashamed too, still on their knees with their heads bowed.

“They’re gone,” he said when the Galra had left, and Lance and Keith got to their feet, subdued and avoiding making eye contact with him. 

“We didn’t want to leave the fleet,” Lance said a few dobashes later when they had managed to squeeze into the back of a cab. “We would have kept fighting if they’d let us.” 

“I know,” Shiro said, and after a moment he carefully put an arm around Lance’s shoulders. He’d noticed that when the immediate danger was gone, the tension between Lance and Keith that he had felt at breakfast had returned. They sat on opposite sides of the cab seat, leaving him in the middle. But both of them were shaking a little from the ordeal with the Galra, and he ached to provide help in some way. 

It hadn’t happened often, but he remembered a few times when Matt had leaned against him, seeking the comfort of Shiro’s arms and scent. 

When Shiro’s arm settled on him, Lance stayed still for a brief tick and then relaxed against him. He was warm, and Shiro startled himself by instinctively crooning a calming noise. It sounded hoarse, but Lance responded with a grateful chirp. 

Keith was watching them, still keeping his distance, but the stiffness in his shoulders eased and his ears perked. 

“Thanks for stopping that captain,” he said. He didn’t look suspicious or angry anymore, and in fact looked a little abashed, as though embarrassed by his earlier doubts. “No one ever stood up for us before.”

“There was no call to humiliate you in public like that, no matter what you had done.”

Keith’s ears flattened, and he looked down at the seat, picking at the cushion with his nail. “Were you ashamed to be seen with us?” he mumbled.

Lance stilled against him, waiting for his answer. 

Shiro squeezed Lance’s shoulder. “Of course not.” He wondered if he would have felt that way, though, if he had still been in the fleet. He had never liked the practice of branding and shunning anyone who was dishonorably discharged, but he had also believed in the hierarchy, in the importance of alpha-omega bonds, in the stability and strength they provided. 

But then the Druids captured him, and when he escaped, he was shattered, a ghost of his former self. 

He would have liked to stay with the fleet too, if they had let him. 

But there wasn’t any room for weakness in the Emperor’s troops. He wondered, now, what weakness really meant and whether culling it was worth the cost. 

Keith inched a little closer. Lance was breathing quietly, his hair soft against Shiro’s chin. Shiro held out his other arm in an invitation. 

Slowly, Keith settled against Shiro’s side, resting his head on his shoulder. He could tell Keith and Lance were looking at each other, but they didn’t say anything. 

Shiro let his own head fall back against the seat. His body ached. Part of him almost wished he was going back to his apartment alone, to fall into a haze of exhaustion and not have to think or do anything. 

But they were so warm against him, these two omegas he had found. They needed him—needed his help. And Keith was going into heat too. He didn’t know anything about omegas when they went into heat, what they needed or any risks there might be. In the fleet, all of that was handled by the doctors when it was time for an omega to breed. The environment was controlled, the omega isolated while their suppressants were stopped, their alpha brought in when their fertility peaked. 

He wondered if Lance and Keith had any better idea of what to expect—he suspected they didn’t. 

“Shiro,” Lance whispered. “Are we... Is someone going to buy us, like that captain said? Is that… is that really the only way we can survive?”

“No, we’ll figure something out,” he promised, even though he didn’t know how to make this right. But he felt their moods lift, and Keith even nuzzled his chin a little in gratitude, as though if Shiro said it, then it couldn’t be anything but true. 

He’d forgotten what that was like, to inspire complete confidence in someone. But back then, he’d been confident in himself too. Now… now he could only stumble forward and hope he didn’t bring all three of them crashing down if he fell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has left comments and kudos so far. Comments in particular really do make my day, and I love hearing from you about what you're enjoying. :)


	4. Chapter 4

Shiro smelled of sweat and antiseptic, but his arm was a warm, comforting weight wrapped around Lance’s shoulders. It reminded him of when his older brother used to sit next to him and listen while he cried about the kids who teased him for saying he wanted to join the fleet and be a fighter pilot. He would put his arm around Lance too, like this. 

Keith had never been very good at such things. And that was okay; he loved Keith’s awkward, but sweet attempts at cheering him up when he was sad. But this was nice—to have Shiro there, saying that things would be all right and believing that maybe they would be. 

He knew it was his fault they were in this mess. He was the one who had started it, flirting with Keith back when they were still cadets. It hadn’t been very serious at first. He’d found Keith attractive, so different from anyone he’d seen back home, and he’d also been jealous of his piloting skills. He’d wanted Keith’s attention on _him_ , not the simulators, not their classmates, not Thace. So he’d flirted and teased and annoyed until Keith gave up and glared at him with his pretty eyes and demanded what Lance _wanted_. 

And Lance could have said, “I want to show you I’m a better pilot. I want to beat your scores.” But instead, he’d blurted that he wanted to take Keith out for ice cream, and Keith had looked so adorably confused and flustered, and then admitted he didn’t know what ice cream was, and Lance had been suitably appalled, and a few days later, he’d cupped Keith’s soft, fuzzy ears in his hands and kissed his mouth, all sticky with strawberry ice cream. 

“But we’re both omegas,” Keith had whispered before kissing Lance back.

He knew that he should stop, but then he found out how Keith—prickly, withdrawn, terse—became soft and tentative and hopeful when Lance gave him hugs and called him little pet names and brushed the silky, violet fur that grew along his calves and forearms when they squeezed into Lance’s bunk and lay stretched out, side by side. 

And so instead of doing the smart thing, he fell in love, and the thought of Keith bonding with his assigned alpha, Thace, of having Thace’s kits, made him sick with jealousy and frustration. Equally unbearable was the thought of mating with Ulaz, his own alpha. 

Even on suppressants, their instincts started to overwhelm them. They both wanted to build a nest and found an out-of-the-way corner in an equipment room where they could put some blankets and pillows. It was cold and dark, but they could curl together and learn each other’s scents and bodies. 

“We can’t keep doing this,” Keith would always say, and Lance would tell him no, it would work out, if they only stayed hidden no one would know.

He’d nuzzle Keith’s chin, wanting him to keep carding his fingers through his hair, and whisper, “We’re partners, aren’t we? We have each other’s backs in the field. Everyone says we’re a good team, so they’ll put us in the same unit. We can keep flying together. They told us two omegas can’t have kits, so no one will find out if we just keep it secret.” 

But then another cadet found them—found their nest and reported it. And now here they were, and he’d cost Keith the one thing Keith had spent his life fighting to achieve—a place in the fleet and the chance to earn a Blade of Marmora and redeem his mother’s name. 

Guilt squeezed his chest whenever he thought of it. And to make it worse, Keith had gotten sick and his heat was coming. Neither of them knew what to do when an omega went into heat, but Lance was going almost wild under the compelling urge to find a safe nest and food for him. 

But… but maybe Keith didn’t want to nest with him anymore. Maybe he would never forgive Lance, for this. 

Tears burned his eyes, and he shifted a little closer to Shiro, who resettled his arm around Lance without comment.

Shiro was hurting too. He could see it—beyond the physical wounds from the arena. He didn’t understand why Shiro was fighting there or what had happened to him, but he knew it was wrong. Shiro seemed lonely and… and lost. 

He was also learning that Shiro was just as stubborn and stupid as Keith when it came to taking care of himself and not pushing his limits. 

Shiro insisted on walking unaided into his apartment and started fussing about getting Keith more medicine and water to drink.

“Hold on, Shiro,” Lance said, planting himself in front of Shiro. “I’m worried about Keith too, but _I_ can get him the medicine.”

“Not helpless,” Keith muttered, and Lance gave him a glare because whether Keith was angry with him or not, that wasn’t going to stop him from looking after him as long as he could. 

“You,” Lance told Shiro, “are going to sit down and rest your leg.”

Shiro looked torn between being amused and affronted, but after a moment, he sat down in a chair. 

“Stay put,” Lance told him and then turned to Keith, who was pale and sweaty and barely managing to stay upright. 

“You’re going to bed, babe,” he told him. “No arguments.”

It was a mark of how awful Keith must have felt that he didn’t object, although he did shrug off Lance’s hand when he tried to touch Keith’s arm. 

Swallowing down the hurt, he straightened out the blankets instead while Keith took off his shoes. When Keith was under the covers, face smushed into the pillow, he took a tentative seat on the bed. 

“Is it still the fever?” he asked. 

“Maybe. I feel sick to my stomach too. And dizzy,” Keith admitted, his voice muffled. 

“I’ll get some more of the medicine. Do you want anything else?”

“I don’t know,” Keith said, and his voice wavered. He was trying not to cry. 

Lance’s heart ached. “Let me know, if you do.”

“It feels too—too empty and big in here. I don’t recognize any of the scents.” 

“You probably want to make a nest. Remember, how it felt before, in the barracks?”

“I don’t want a nest! I don’t want to go into heat!” Keith burrowed further under the blanket. “I want…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but he didn’t have to—Lance knew what he wanted. Keith wanted his ship and his bayard and the silent immensity of space. 

There was nothing to say, so he went into the bathroom instead and got the medicine and a cup of water and a damp cloth. He tried not to look at his reflection in the mirror, but he couldn’t help it. The tattoo stood out on his cheek, an ugly reminder of what he had done. He heard again the scorn in that Galra captain’s voice, felt the consuming shame of being put on his knees in the dirt, of Keith having to kneel there beside him. 

He wouldn’t cry, though. Not now. Keith needed him, and Shiro too. 

Keith accepted the medicine and water and let Lance lay the cool cloth on his forehead. “Try and get some rest, okay?” he whispered, and Keith nodded, eyes already closing. 

He watched him a few ticks longer and then went into the other room, closing the door behind him. 

“How is he?” Shiro asked.

“Resting. But—but he’s not doing so great, Shiro. I don’t know if it’s because we were on suppressants for so long or if heats are always like this, but he seems pretty sick. I think his instincts want him to make a nest, but he’s being so—so fucking stubborn.” His voice broke, and he realized he was about to cry in front of Shiro, who had just taken a freaking spear in his leg without flinching. A flush darkened his cheeks, and he stared at the wall, willing himself to keep it together. 

“I guess the bed doesn’t work too well,” Shiro was saying. “Maybe it’s too exposed. We could try putting something together on the floor, in the corner by the closet, where the one wall sticks out a little farther. Do you think that would be better?”

“Maybe. Getting Keith into it won’t be easy.” 

“Even if you’re there with him?” Shiro asked it carefully, his tone neutral.

“I—I don’t think he wants me to be with him.” And there was a tear, and now another and another. He sniffed, keeping his face turned away. 

“Hey,” Shiro said, soft and gentle. “It’ll be okay, Lance.”

“But—he hates me now. It was _my_ fault, Shiro. It was my fault.”

The next he knew, he was back in Shiro’s arms, sobbing, while Shiro rubbed soothing circles on his back. “He doesn’t hate you,” Shiro told him. “Don’t cry, Lance. Come on, it’s all right.”

“He does, though. I cost him everything, Shiro. And I l-love him. So, so much. I was so selfish.” His fists tightened in Shiro’s shirt. He felt like a kit again, helpless against the casual cruelties of the world. “Why couldn’t we be together? Why was it wrong?”

Shiro held him closer, and Lance breathed his warm scent, tears slowing to an occasional drop, sliding down his nose. 

Shiro was making those hoarse crooning noises again, like he had in the cab. It sounded as though he had never done it before or not for a long time. He wondered if Shiro had been assigned an omega, back when he was still with the fleet. 

He could have stayed like that forever, probably, but Shiro’s leg buckled, and they staggered a few steps until Shiro caught himself.

“Oh, quiznak, you’re hurt, and I’m—” Lance pushed away, wiping his face. “Sit _down_ , Shiro, geez. I’m okay.” 

Shiro obeyed, the tight lines of pain around his mouth easing as he took the weight off his leg. 

“You have painkillers?” Lance asked, and Shiro nodded and told him what bottle to get out of the medicine cabinet. 

After Shiro had swallowed two pills, Lance sat down at the table himself, feeling exhausted, his eyes all puffy and swollen still. 

“Like I said before, the two of you can stay here,” Shiro said. “As long as you want or need. We’ll figure out what to do for Keith’s heat.” 

“Thanks.” He smiled, glancing at Shiro. “I knew you had to be a pretty awesome person.”

Shiro actually blushed, which was pretty cute. He looked very young for a second, and Lance remembered that Shiro was only a few years older than him and Keith. 

He made up his mind then and there that he wasn’t going to let Shiro go back and fight in that arena. And they were going to find out what Shiro looked like when he was happy. 

He was going to make Keith happy too. He’d find a way, somehow, to get Keith a ship again and let him fly back into the endless skies and skim through the darkness in between the stars.


	5. Chapter 5

Shiro woke up with a crick in his neck from sleeping on the sofa and an unfamiliar warmth against his side. He looked down to find Lance fast asleep, huddled awkwardly against his shoulder, mouth open. He’d drooled a little on Shiro’s shirt.    
   
“Hey, buddy,” Shiro said, reaching down to gently nudge Lance and wincing as the slight movement jostled his leg.    
   
Lance blinked, slowly coming awake, rubbing at his eyes. “Shiro?”   
   
“You should go sleep in the bed with Keith. It’s still pretty early in the morning. I’m going to lie down here.”   
   
“Nooo,” Lance groaned, cuddling back into Shiro’s side. “Tired. Can’t move.”   
   
“You’ll get a stiff neck sleeping here.”   
   
“Don’t care.” Then, softer, “Keith doesn’t want me with him anyway.”   
   
Shiro sighed. “Did he say that?”   
   
Lance didn’t reply, but after a few ticks, he got up, running a hand through his hair. “Thanks, Shiro. For listening and—and everything.”   
   
“Sure thing. Later today we’ll get what Keith needs for his heat, okay?”    
   
Lance nodded and wandered toward the bedroom. Shiro heard the creak of the mattress, rustling fabric, and the murmur of voices before silence fell. An argument hadn’t broken out, then, that was good.    
   
He stretched out on the couch, muffling a groan as he propped his injured leg on the pillows. They would have to do something about the bed situation. His bed was too small for both Keith and Lance, and his back wouldn’t take kindly to sleeping on his couch much longer.    
   
Lance’s scent still clung to him, and he could feel drowsiness pulling on him once more. Keith and Lance were in the other room, safe for now. He could sleep.    
   
*   
   
“Your mission is to the outer reaches of Sector Seven, Captain Shirogane. You’ll take a small ship—this is reconnaissance only. There have been reports of Druid activity along the fringes of our territory.”   
   
*   
   
“—malfunction in the engine—impossible… return to base—requesting… help… have to land—nearest moon. Power is…… going to crash….”   
   
*   
   
“Honerva, he’s lost too much blood. We can’t save the arm. Have to—”   
   
*   
   
“Shiro, _Shiro_!”   
   
He snapped awake. There were hands on him—he had to fight, get away—   
   
“Shiro, it’s all right! It’s us. It’s just us.”   
   
Lance’s scent penetrated his panic. And Keith’s too. They were here. Here in his apartment. Safe.    
   
Trying to catch his breath, he slumped back down and forced the fingers of his prosthetic hand to unclench. His shoulder ached, echoed by the new soreness in his thigh.    
   
Keith and Lance were hovering over him, identical looks of worry on their faces.    
   
“I woke you up,” he said, and his voice sounded dry and hoarse. His shirt was drenched in sweat.   
   
“You were making these kind of hurt noises,” Lance said.   
   
“And your scent was really distressed,” Keith added, his dark brows scrunched in concern.    
   
“Sorry. I have… dreams.”   
   
Keith and Lance exchanged a look. “About when you lost your arm?” Lance asked cautiously.    
   
He nodded.   
   
“Do you, um, mind telling us what happened?”   
   
“I don’t remember,” he admitted. “I was going on a mission to Sector Seven, and then—” He swallowed. “The next clear thing in my memory is being back on my cruiser with—with this arm—and—and being told I’d failed my psych evals. That I couldn’t return to my unit.”    
   
It had been such a shock. He’d felt so abandoned. He’d needed the familiar scents of his teammates, especially Matt. But they’d already been reposted, the doctor told him. He couldn’t even see them one last time.    
   
“Shiro, hey, focus on us.” Lance’s words and his arm, sliding around Shiro’s shoulders, his head bumping gently against Shiro’s chin, brought him back to the present. He turned blindly into the comfort, scenting Lance and rubbing his nose against his neck.   
   
A warm weight settled on his stomach, and he found Keith had put his head there, a hand scrunched in Shiro’s shirt. “Don’t smell sad,” Keith mumbled.    
   
Shiro put a hand in Keith’s hair, petting the long, dark strands and for once didn’t try to stop the tears that leaked from the corners of his eyes.  

*  
   
Lance and Keith gave him space to shower and pull himself together while they got breakfast. There was still a tension there between the two of them, and Keith wasn’t looking so good, a hectic flush staining his cheeks. He seemed dizzy too, stumbling into chairs, and every time, Shiro could see Lance catch himself before he reached out to try and help.    
   
“Your heat is coming, Keith,” Shiro said bluntly when they were sitting down. Lance had made pancakes again for himself and Shiro, but Keith had fish and some fresh fruit.    
   
Keith scowled.    
   
“Lance and I figure that it’s probably a good idea for you to build a nest, somewhere more enclosed than the bed.”    
   
“I don’t want to,” Keith said, stabbing his fish.    
   
“Babe, you need to do it. You’ll feel better,” Lance said, pleading with his eyes. Keith scowled harder, hunching over in his chair.    
   
“Lance is right” Shiro told him. “Whether you want to or not is beside the point—it’s instinct. You don’t have a choice.”   
   
“I never have a choice!” Keith burst out, and then he clenched his jaw and fell silent.   
   
Lance was watching him, silently miserable.    
   
“After breakfast, Lance will go buy some more blankets and pillows. Keith, you and I will decide on a spot for your nest,” Shiro declared after a moment. “Okay?”   
   
“Okay,” Lance said, subdued. Keith gave a sullen nod.    
   
“First, though, we’re taking care of your leg, Shiro,” Lance added.    
   
“It’s fine,” he said automatically.   
   
“Don’t be stupid, Shiro,” Keith grumbled. “You need help.”   
   
So he let them help redress his leg and thought to himself how different this was, to have someone to soothe his hurts and comfort him after his nightmares. Even in his unit, it had never been like that—not even with Matt.    
   
When they were done, he transferred some money to Lance’s identity card, and sent him off to find more blankets. Then he turned to face Keith.   
   
“We’ll pay you back,” Keith said, not meeting his eyes. His ears were flicking back and forth, and he smelled… well, probably like an omega going into heat was supposed to smell. Shiro had never experienced the scent before. But while it did stir something like arousal in the back of his mind, he had absolutely no desire to act on it.    
   
Keith, though, was looking nervous now that it was just the two of them without Lance there.    
   
“Don’t worry about the money,” Shiro said.    
   
“We’ll pay you back,” Keith repeated, stubborn, and then he flinched a little when Shiro took a step toward him.   
   
He stopped. “I won’t touch you,” he said, spreading his palms out and holding his arms loosely at his sides.    
   
“Okay.” Keith still took a step away from him, pressing up against the wall. Then, realizing what he had done, he straightened and shot Shiro a defiant glare. “I’m not scared. I’ve never been scared of alphas.”   
   
Maybe he hadn’t been, but he was now. Shiro let the lie stand, though, asking instead, “What was your alpha like, in the fleet?”   
   
“Thace was… I thought he was kind, once.” Keith swallowed, his shoulders slumping again. “But he didn’t do anything to help us. He… he just let them….”    
   
“He’d have been thrown out of the fleet too, if he had intervened.”   
   
“I know. And he had another omega and kits already. He’d have had to leave them, if he’d helped. But still….”    
   
Keith shivered and wrapped his arms around his body. “I thought Sendak was going to kill Lance, when they found us. And Thace stopped me—he stopped me from trying to save him. If Lance had—” Keith’s voice shook, and he rubbed a furious hand over his eyes.    
   
“Lance is okay, though,” Shiro said gently. “Now let’s settle on a place for your nest, okay?”   
   
There weren’t that many options to choose from, of course. In the end, Keith went with the corner by the bedroom closet, which Shiro had mentioned to Lance. Keith brought over the pillows from the bed, and the blanket and sheets, but simply dropped them in a heap, then slid down the wall until he was sitting on the floor. He looked dazed, and he grabbed what Shiro guessed was Lance’s pillow and hugged it to his chest.    
   
“He’ll be back soon,” Shiro said. He was standing a few feet away, not wanting to intrude. He’d heard that omegas got territorial about their nests.    
   
Keith raised his head, looking a little lost. “I hurt him yesterday, Shiro. That’s all I ever do.”   
   
“I know that’s not true.” Shiro crouched down, so he was on Keith’s level. “Do you blame him, for what happened?”   
   
Keith shook his head, nuzzling the pillow. “He… he _loves_ me, Shiro.” He sounded as though he couldn’t quite believe it, as though the idea of someone loving him was unfathomable.    
   
“Maybe you should tell him you don’t blame him, then,” he suggested, wishing he could put an arm around Keith, like he had with Lance yesterday.   
   
“My mother won a Blade of Marmora,” Keith said instead of responding to the suggestion. “And then she met my father—an omega, but a human. He wasn’t with the fleet—he was a farmer. Their mating wasn’t sanctioned either. They ran off and had me, and the Emperor stripped her of her Blade. I was going to prove that it hadn’t been a mistake, that I was as good as any omega who came from an official mating, that I could fight as well as any fleet-bred Galra, and instead, instead—” He broke off and buried his face in the pillow.    
   
Shiro had to sit down on the floor, to ease the ache in his leg. The nightmare had left him tired and unsettled, and he didn’t know what to say to Keith. He couldn’t magically reinstate him in the fleet. He couldn’t stop his heat from coming. He couldn’t erase that tattoo on his cheek. But Keith needed something—reassurance, comfort, sympathy. Words were all Shiro could give him.   
   
“Maybe your mom would be proud of you,” he said. “For following your heart, like she did.”    
   
Keith didn’t raise his head, but Shiro could tell he was listening.    
   
“You wouldn’t have been able to be with Lance, if you’d stayed with the fleet.”   
   
“I know,” Keith said finally, his voice muffled in the pillow. “I always knew that.”   
   
“And you chose him.”   
   
“I’d _always_ choose him. Always,” Keith whispered. “I only wish—” He stopped at the sound of the front door opening. A few ticks later, Lance came into the room, arms piled high with more pillows and a bright blue blanket made of what appeared to be fake fur.    
   
“Oh my god, what is that?” Keith asked, staring.   
   
“Isn’t it awesome?” Lance bounced on his toes. “It’s so soft—you’ll love it, babe. I got it on sale too.”   
   
“Keep it away from me.”   
   
“Awww, come on now. Just give it a try,” Lance wheedled. He shuffled closer and let the blanket slither out of his arms to pool at Keith’s feet.    
   
Keith put out a reluctant hand, touched it, and then tugged it closer.   
   
“See?” Lance crowed. “Softest _ever_.” Then he frowned. “You’ve barely started on your nest. Everything’s just piled here.”   
   
“Are you the expert now?” Keith snapped. “Maybe I like it this way.”    
   
Lance went quiet, and Shiro watched the guilt flicker over Keith’s face.    
   
“I’ll leave you guys to it, then,” he said, carefully getting to his feet. “Let me know if you need anything.”   
   
He gave Keith a meaningful look as he left, and Keith grimaced but reached up to tug a surprised Lance down next to him.   
   
Shiro shut the door, hoping that they could work things out, and that Keith would allow Lance to stay with him for his heat. He supposed maybe he shouldn’t be encouraging them to spend a heat together. They couldn’t be more than nineteen, after all, and it would mean a permanent bond if they did. But they’d defied everyone and everything to be together, so he couldn’t imagine that bonding wasn’t something they both wanted. At least they didn’t need to worry about kits. Two omegas couldn’t procreate, even if one of them was in heat.    
   
He went into the kitchen, intending to make a survey of the cabinets and fridge. They needed more groceries—Lance was eating a lot, and he suspected that Keith preferred a diet heavier on meat with fewer carbs and sugars.    
   
But when he went to open the cabinet, his hand shook, and he ended up gripping the counter instead, eyes squeezed shut. He felt… raw and exposed. He’d never talked with anyone about what had happened with the Druids. Well, presumably he had talked about it with the fleet’s doctors, but he couldn’t remember it. But Lance and Keith expected—wanted—him to share and to ask for help.    
   
There was also the flickering recollection from his dream. He had recognized a name—Honerva. He was sure she had been one of the Druids who took him. But in the dream, had the Druids been speaking about trying to save his arm? How could that be, when they were the ones who had taken it—had cut it off? That had been the one thing that he had been certain had happened. What did it mean if he was wrong?    
   
 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow pace of updates, but I do intend to keep going with this fic, although updates will likely remain slow. Lots of fluff and nesting coming up in the next chapter, though. In fact, the next chapter is the reason I started this fic in the first place because soft nests and fluffy heats and everyone being cozy and sweet have become my favorite things.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go, the beginning of the nesting/heat fluff.

Only Lance would bring him back something like _this_ for their nest, Keith thought, examining the bright blue blanket and ignoring Lance himself. 

It was kind of adorable and funny, though, and it made his chest warm, thinking of Lance choosing things for him, for their nest. On the cruiser, they had made do with the dark grey, standard issue blankets and flat pillows. 

The fact that he was feeling this way about a fuzzy blanket proved how far gone he was for this boy, who had flirted with him and courted him and loved him despite the danger. 

Keith supposed his parents had loved him, but he couldn’t remember them very well. They’d died when he was little, and he’d been passed around among foster homes until at last he’d clawed his way into the Garrison with a combination of stellar grades and off-the-charts flying abilities. They’d never have accepted a half-breed from an unsanctioned bonding otherwise. 

None of his foster families had shown him much affection, and he had never been good at making friends. But then Lance had appeared, and he’d chosen to defy the Emperor’s dictates and fleet command because he loved Keith and wanted to be with him. 

He still couldn’t quite believe it. 

“Hey, Lance,” he said quietly.

“Yeah?” Lance scooted a little closer and cautiously bumped their shoulders together. 

“I’m sorry about getting mad at you yesterday.” His voice was stiff, and his face was turning red, and he was terrible at apologies, but he couldn’t let them go on like this. 

“You were right, though,” Lance said, small and sad. “I screwed up. I ruined things for you and—”

“That’s not true!” He turned to look at Lance, who was staring, wide-eyed with surprise. “You love me and look after me. No one’s ever done that before. I—I love you, Lance, and none of this is your fault, so don’t say that!” 

Tears welled in Lance’s eyes and spilled over. He sniffed, stared at Keith for a second, and then flung himself forward. Keith ended up squished against the wall, Lance sprawled in his arms. 

“I thought you probably hated me,” Lance whispered. “And I’ll find a way to get you a ship again. I will; I promise.”

Keith pulled him up a bit because he didn’t have any more words, but he could give kisses and prove with his body and touch how much he loved Lance. 

They ended up curled in the scattered blankets, Lance’s head tucked under his chin. He could feel the wet brush of Lance’s eyelashes against his neck.

“It’s so… awful, though,” Lance whispered. “We don’t have anything, Keith, and everyone looks at us like we’re something dirty. I’m… I’m scared. If Shiro hadn’t taken us in….” 

“I know. I’m scared too,” he admitted. “I’ve always survived, though. No matter what. We’ll get through this. And—and I want you to stay with me during my—during my heat.” 

It was as good as asking Lance to bond with him, and he had to blurt it out quickly lest he lose his nerve. 

Lance lifted his head. “You want that?” he asked, his eyes soft, and at Keith’s embarrassed nod, he smiled and kissed the tip of his nose.

“You know I hate that,” Keith grumbled without any real heat. 

“Better get used to it, babe. I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.” 

“Good,” Keith said and pulled him into another kiss. 

“I couldn’t have given you up,” Lance whispered when they parted, nuzzling his nose against Keith’s cheek. 

A pleased chirp escaped him before he could stop it, and Lance purred in response. 

“I hate them for what they did to you, though,” Keith said, touching the tattoo on Lance’s face. 

“That?” Lance gave him a crooked grin. “It doesn’t change the fact I’m smokin’ hot, babe. And you’re totally into me.”

Keith made a face, but he didn’t deny it, and Lance laughed. Then he grew serious.

“It could have been worse. They could have done something to separate us forever.”

He shivered at the thought and latched onto Lance, breathing in his clean, sweet scent. 

“I’m still… upset about not being able to fly anymore,” he admitted, mumbling the words into Lance’s shirt. “I’m upset about losing my chance to earn a Blade. But that’s not your fault.” He took a deep breath. “I would make the same choice all over again, Lance.”

Lance hugged him tightly, then said, “Even the part where you accidentally put on my pants that one time and tripped in the mess hall in front of everyone because they were too long?”

Keith nipped his finger in reply.

“Ow,” Lance said, laughing again. “My little wild kitten.” 

“Lance,” he complained, although he secretly adored the pet names Lance called him. 

Lance gave him a smile that suggested he probably knew this. Then he prodded one of the pillows. “We need to do something about this nest.”

Of course, Lance proved to be adept at arranging pillows and blankets and sheets into a cozy circle. Keith let him, a hazy, pleased calm enveloping his mind as their nest took shape. He wrapped his arms around his knees, rocking back and forth a little. 

“My sister lived with us for a while after she bonded with her alpha,” Lance explained as he smoothed down one of the sheets. “She showed me how to make a nest.”

That’s right—Lance had come from a real family. A familiar pang struck Keith before it occurred to him that maybe he and Lance were a family now. He ducked his head down against his knees to hide his smile. 

Lance patted the last pillow into position and then dropped down to sit behind Keith, putting his knees on either side of Keith’s hips and wrapping his arms around him. “Mmmmm, you smell so good.”

“You said I always smell good,” Keith corrected him, as it seemed an important point to make. He had a vague feeling that in other circumstances, he would never have said such a thing, but at the moment, couldn’t remember why through the syrupy feeling beginning to envelop his mind.

Lance chuckled. “That’s true. But you smell even better than usual right now.”

Keith purred.

“Oh, boy, you’re falling fast, aren’t you? I’ll go grab some water and food to keep nearby. I think I better tell Shiro to come get a change of clothes too. I’m betting you won’t want him coming in here, huh?”

He didn’t like that idea at all. He also didn’t like the idea of Lance leaving their nest. 

“You can’t go,” he said, twisting around to wrap a hand in Lance’s shirt and putting his other on his chest. “Stay.”

“Quiznak, you’re adorable,” Lance murmured and then calmly disentangled Keith’s hand, kissed him on the nose _again_ , and said, “I’ll be right back, babe, okay?”

Keith let out a distressed whimper-slash-yowl and blinked, a little startled at the noise. 

“I guess the heat is bringing out your Galra half a little more,” Lance said, and he knelt back down and cupped Keith’s ears, stroking them. “Why don’t you take a shower? When you finish, I promise I’ll be right back here, waiting for you, and then we won’t have to leave our nest again until your heat is over.” 

Keith reluctantly agreed to this plan. A shower would feel good, though, especially as it meant Lance would dry his hair and brush it afterward. 

The combination of being out of his nest and under the stream of hot water cleared his mind a little, and a red flush crept over him as he recalled how he had been acting. And yet… he didn’t hate it. For the first time since all of this had started, he felt… happy. Yes, happy that he was with Lance, that Lance still wanted to bond with him and be with him. Shiro was right—if they were still with the fleet, he wouldn’t have been able to have this. 

He thought of the way Lance had been holding him, wrapped around his body, and of how warm and safe it had felt in their nest. He shivered and hesitantly reached in between his legs, checking—yes, he was getting slick. He felt more sensitive than usual too, and he bit his lip, choking back a moan. Shiro was probably in the other room and—oh, quiznak, Shiro was going to be able to hear—and smell—everything. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?

Stumbling out of the shower, he hastily wrapped his hair in a towel, threw on his shorts again, and hurried into the bedroom. 

Lance was hovering next to Shiro, who was fishing some clothes out of a drawer. 

“It was so adorable, Shiro,” Lance was saying. He was excited and pleased, bouncing on his feet. “I mean, have you seen his ears? There’s nothing cuter in any universe, is there? And he said he wants _me_ and I—oh, hi, babe.” He noticed Keith and cut off his sentence, an irrepressible smile spreading over his face. 

Keith caught Lance’s scent and felt that same warm shiver of arousal. He smiled back, helpless to stop it. But then Shiro’s scent intruded, and he froze. 

Shiro straightened slowly. “Hey, Keith, I’ll be out of here in a second. Just grabbing some clothes.”

Keith looked at him, swallowed, and then edged toward Lance, who met him halfway.

“What’s wrong?” Lance asked, sensing his distress.

Keith swallowed again and then hid his face in Lance’s chest. It was so embarrassing. “We can’t do this here,” he mumbled. “Shiro’s going to—to hear us and—and—”

“Oh. Well, uh, yeah.” Lance rubbed his back with one hand, the other stroking his left ear. 

“I have earplugs,” Shiro said, sounding embarrassed too. Keith glanced at him and found Shiro was studying the opposite wall intently, a blush darkening his cheeks. “And I can open a window,” he added.

Keith wanted to curl up in an embarrassed ball. Shiro had done so much for them already, and now he was having to put up with Keith’s heat. And even with a window open, even with earplugs, Shiro was going to know exactly what they were doing. Already, Lance’s hands, touching him, petting, gentling—he was getting slicker, wetter. He didn’t want anyone else besides Lance to see him like this, and he whined, trying to burrow closer into Lance’s body. 

“Shiro’s not going to listen at the door, babe. And you’re pretty quiet during—”

Keith clapped a hand over Lance’s mouth. 

“I’m stepping into the other room now,” Shiro said, sounding a little strangled and making a wide berth around them. “If anything goes wrong, or if you need anything, let me know. And Lance, remember what we talked about.”

“I know, Shiro,” Lance said. “I’m going to take good care of him. Isn’t that right?” he murmured to Keith, nuzzling him and stealing a little kiss. 

“What did he mean by that?” Keith asked when Shiro was gone, and the door was shut. It was a bit chilly in the room, and with his wet hair, he was getting cold. He wanted to be in their nest, warm and alone with Lance. He’d just have to try and forget that Shiro was in the other room. 

“He said I needed to be careful that I didn’t do anything you didn’t want me to do,” Lance explained. He started rubbing Keith’s hair with the towel.

“Oh.” Keith swayed into the motion, beginning to relax again.

“So I’m going to ask you now.” Lance paused and cleared his throat and then didn’t say anything.

Keith pushed aside a corner of the towel to peer at him. 

Lance cleared his throat again, looking embarrassed but determined. “Is it okay if I, um, you know?”

Keith blinked at him.

Lance fidgeted. “It’s just that we never, uh, did that before.”

Oh. _Oh_. Lance was talking about fucking him. Quiznak, he was blushing again too. Why did all of this have to be so awkward? But he had to answer the question. “I… I want it,” he stammered. 

“Yeah?” Lance sounded a little breathless. “And if I come inside?”

“Um, yeah, I’d like that too, I think.” Fuck, just thinking about it had him getting wetter. 

Lance rushed on, words spilling from his mouth. “You can, I mean, if you _want_ to do me too, I would not be opposed to that. At all. Only if you want. I don’t know if that’s something you’d like to do, when you’re in heat.”

He didn’t know either. “Okay. But—but I want to be in our nest now, Lance. I—it’s cold, and—and—”

Lance’s expression melted into something gentle and probably besotted. “Okay, shhhh, come on. Let’s get you comfortable.” 

They settled in their nest, and Lance dried Keith’s hair first, brushing it out, then turned his attention to the short, silky tufts of violet fur on Keith’s forearms and calves. It always felt so good to have them brushed and petted, and Keith was soon purring, stretched on his stomach among the pillows, his legs in Lance’s lap. This was good and familiar. They had done this many times before.

As always, Lance’s fingers lingered on the scar on his thigh. They both remembered the fight when he’d gotten it, a lucky shot hitting his leg and sending him spinning into the wall before Lance took out the soldier with a head shot. Keith recalled pain and blood and Lance’s face, swimming in and out of focus. 

Then Lance’s hand wandered further up his leg, slipping into his shorts. Keith sucked in a breath and then clamped his mouth shut, his muscles tensing. 

Shiro was in the other room. And although this was their nest, it didn’t hold their scent yet. It was a strange place, a strange planet, a room that wasn’t their own, and—

“Keith.” 

Lance’s voice, gentle, calloused fingers brushing his cheek—he took a deep breath and opened his eyes. 

“Let’s get under the blankets, okay?” Lance said, smiling at him, and he nodded, focusing on Lance’s eyes, letting them anchor him against all the confusing, turbulent emotions pulling at his body. 

They settled on their sides, Keith’s back pressed against Lance’s chest. Lance drew the blankets up and over their heads, so the warm dark closed around them. 

“Better?” Lance whispered, one of his hands finding Keith’s and lacing their fingers together.

He nodded, giving Lance’s hand a squeeze. 

“What does it feel like?” Lance asked after a few moments.

“The heat? It feels….” He struggled to find words. “I keep falling into this kind of daze, where I get relaxed and calm and… and aroused. But I’ve been trying to fight it. I don’t like not being in control of myself.”

Lance didn’t reply immediately. Keith supposed he was wondering if his own heat would be like this, when it came. Thank god their heats hadn’t come at the same time. They would have been defenseless.

“I get that,” Lance finally said. “But it’s okay to let go now. I’m here with you, and I won’t let anything bad happen.” 

He didn’t know if he had ever done that—trusted himself entirely to another person. Even on missions, when he knew Lance had his back, he was still ready to fight and defend himself. 

“I don’t know if I can,” he mumbled. 

“All right. Is it okay if I try and get you to relax a little, though? Like back on the cruiser, when we were in our nest?”

Those were good memories, if tinged with a sense of fear, the knowledge they were doing something forbidden. Lance had always been so gentle and patient with him, as though he knew that Keith had never been kissed and petted, had never experienced the sort of love that Lance wanted to pour over him, overwhelming like the tide. 

“Please,” he whispered.

It started with soft kisses on the back of his neck and behind his ear. Lance let go of his hand, instead sliding his own up Keith’s chest, coming to rest on his breastbone, his thumb sweeping back and forth in a calming rhythm. 

It was stuffy under the blankets, but it meant he could only smell Lance, could only hear his breathing. That hazy sensation started to rise again, his limbs getting heavy. 

What would it have been like to go through this back on the cruiser, in one of the medical wards? He imagined harsh, bright lights and doctors taking his temperature. Thace would have come, with his overpowering, alpha scent. He’d have—

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Lance. Keith whimpered and squirmed, turning around, burying his face in Lance’s neck. Lance nuzzled his head, crooning to him. He loved Lance’s songs—there were no words, but they made him feel like he was in a boat, rocking on calm, placid water. 

He purred in response, a low, thrumming harmony. Only two omegas could sing like this, and yet they were denied the chance to bond, to create something so sweet. But Lance had done it anyway, had shown him that it was possible. He crooned too, thinking that he had never made anything beautiful before, had only survived and fought and killed. 

Their song unlocked something inside him, and it rose up, and he let go, and sank beneath it, and trusted that Lance would come and find him there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about cutting off there--I was going to take this all the way through Keith's heat and then realized I wanted to do the next part in Lance's pov.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I had to up the rating to E because apparently I can't resist writing heat smut

The first time Keith fell asleep in front of him had been on a mission. They’d been part of a team sent to eliminate a terrorist cell on a planet. Ice covered the planet’s surface, and you had to wait until the short period of sunlight warmed the air enough to allow movement. Otherwise everything would freeze—human, Galra, and technology alike. But in the planet’s brief day you could locate one of the vents in the ice that led down to the subterranean chambers and oceans where the planet’s inhabitants lived.

The drop had gone off without a problem, but then they had to wait in the ship for the sun to rise. Ulaz was on watch, but Thace had settled down for a nap and told Keith and Lance to grab some sleep while they could. He’d been pretty keyed up and had expected Keith to be the same. Keith was always so focused on missions.

But then he’d felt a weight on his shoulder and looked down to find Keith had fallen asleep, leaning against him. 

He’d looked so… soft and young, and Lance had stilled, hardly daring to breathe for fear of disturbing him. They hadn’t been together too long at that point, and it was then Lance realized that Keith trusted him—trusted Lance to look after him while he slept, when all his defenses were down. 

It had been a little frightening in some ways, to know that Keith was putting his life in Lance’s hands. He’d wanted that trust, but wanting and having were two different things. 

It was the same now, as he felt Keith relax in his arms, loose-limbed and pliant. Keith let out a quiet, pleading whimper, and then started nudging Lance’s jaw, his ears tickling against Lance’s neck. 

The tickling made him laugh, even as his heart thumped loud in his ears. Keith was all lean muscle, sturdy, capable, yet at that moment he seemed so fragile. It could be so easy to hurt a person, even unintentionally, and the world outside… that world would not be kind to them. How could he ever hope to meet the trust Keith had placed in him? 

But Keith had faith in him—more than that, he’d said he would make the same choices all over again. He would choose Lance despite everything. 

So he couldn’t give up now—not now and not ever. They were going to bond, their scents mingling. When his own heat came, Keith would be there, and all the days in between and after too. 

He got his hands on Keith’s shoulders and pushed him back a little so he could see his face. He brushed Keith’s sweaty hair off his forehead. 

Keith was worrying at his bottom lip, a little frown line in between his brows. He was also starting to shift restlessly, and Lance could smell his building need. When Keith’s shifting brought their hips together, they both sucked in a breath. 

His history textbook had explained that before the Galra came, humans hadn’t manifested as alphas, betas, or omegas. But the Galra saw what skilled fighters humans could be, saw their strength and ingenuity, and decided they would be a worthy species to include in the ranks of Galra warriors. The first humans who underwent the change were revered on Earth. It was thanks to them that humans could now join the fleet and become a part of the pack squadrons, serving the Emperor in the most honorable way possible. Not every alien species was afforded such a gift. 

Lance couldn’t imagine what it would be like not to have these instincts. He wouldn’t be able to scent Keith or purr in contentment when Keith held him. How strange it would be not to feel a desire to build a nest and hold his mate safe inside it. 

Lance rolled their bodies, and Keith went with it, letting Lance settle over him and spreading his legs, crooking one leg over Lance’s thigh. The blankets slid off their heads, but Keith didn’t seem to care anymore. Lance sent a silent apology to Shiro and then turned all his attention to his pretty kitten.

They still had their shorts on, and when Lance slid one hand down, palming the swell of Keith’s ass, the fabric felt damp.

“Oh, fuck.” He swallowed hard, arousal shivering over his body.

Sharp teeth pricked at his skin, followed by a rough tongue. Keith was licking and sucking at his neck, letting out short growls and impatient whines. Lance moaned, knowing he’d be covered in red marks. He pushed down Keith’s shorts as best he could with Keith grinding against him. His fingers shook a little as he reached between Keith’s legs and found his cunt slick, hot, and sensitive. 

They’d fingered each other before, but he’d never put his dick inside Keith. He wasn’t as big as an alpha and wouldn’t be able to knot, and he was a little worried that it wouldn’t be enough for Keith and wouldn’t satisfy him in his heat. 

But when he did get his own shorts off and guided the tip of his cock to Keith’s entrance and then pushed inside, Keith let out a relieved groan. And when he started moving, Keith arched his neck and clawed at Lance’s back.

“My little. Wild. Kitten,” he gasped and set about making his own marks on Keith’s neck. 

He didn’t last as long as he had hoped or wanted. His hips stuttered and then he started coming. He kissed Keith, a wet, messy kiss, and when he came up for air, Keith stared up at him, violet eyes wide, breath hitching at each twitch of Lance’s cock. 

“You like how that feels?” Lance murmured, but Keith didn’t seem capable of actual words at this point. He felt between them for Keith’s own erection and a few strokes had Keith coming, the both of them whimpering at the sensation. 

He stayed in Keith when he’d spent himself, unwilling to part their bodies. Besides—“I think I’m gonna have to do it again—your scent and—and it feels so good, babe.”

“Yeah—ahhhh, please. Please,” Keith murmured.

Keith calmed down a little after the second round, and when Lance put a hand on Keith’s stomach, thinking that he was full of seed now, Keith started purring. 

Lance peppered his face with kisses and then worked his way down Keith’s body until his mouth was at Keith’s cunt. He licked it, and Keith yowled and grabbed onto Lance’s hair, holding him in place. Lance grinned and licked him again, tonguing at his clit, lapping up Keith’s slick and some of his own come. After he’d wrung another orgasm out of Keith, he blew cool air on the swollen flesh, and Keith made a broken noise, hips twitching violently. 

“Not bad, huh?” he said, settling at Keith’s side again, smug, and Keith made one of his cute, outraged growls before tucking his head under Lance’s chin so his ears could be petted. 

Later, they found out that Keith _did_ like to fuck Lance too, and Lance couldn’t quite decide which end of the deal was better. 

It turned him on, being pinned down, Keith thrusting inside him, his hair a wild tangle. 

And after—after, when they were both so sleepy, their nest enfolding them, and Keith let him whisper how much he loved him and pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek—he liked that too. 

*

Keith didn’t want to emerge from their nest until late in the afternoon of the next day. But then he announced that he was going to take a shower and rose, stretching and yawning, and Lance took the opportunity to admire the lean length of his body and all the marks he had put there. Keith gave him a lazy, satiated grin and laughed when Lance flicked a pillow at his ass, easily dodging. 

While Keith was in the shower, Lance took the opportunity to straighten their nest, tossing aside all the dirty sheets and rearranging the pillows. Keith returned and started eating some of the snacks, while Lance took his turn in the bathroom, mourning the loss of his favorite robe and slippers, left behind in his quarters on their ship. 

They polished off most of the food, and then spent some time scenting each other, learning the nuances of their new, mated scents. 

“You smell awesome, babe, if I do say so myself,” he declared, and Keith snorted and rolled his eyes before tying back his hair and getting up to do some calisthenics. This was a clear sign that Keith was feeling better, illness and heat both dissipated. It took a lot to make Keith skip his exercises. 

Lance lolled in their nest, watching. But his mind was also starting to return to the question looming over them—what now?

They needed money for food and other necessities. They couldn’t rely on Shiro forever. And Shiro was another problem—Lance had no doubt that Shiro planned to return to that horrible arena, which he was absolutely not going to let happen. 

“We can’t let Shiro go fight again,” he said aloud.

Keith glanced his way, then dropped down to the floor and started doing pushups. “It’s his choice.”

“No, it’s not his choice. It’s a crappy decision he made because he was depressed and didn’t think he could do anything else.”

Keith kept his eyes focused on the floor. “We might have to do it too if—”

“No. Shiro said—”

“If he isn’t doing something to make money, and _we_ aren’t, then how are we supposed to manage?” Keith demanded, increasing his pace. He wasn’t even breathing hard. 

Scowling, Lance reached out to grab Keith’s sleeve. “Would you stop that and look at me for one tick?” 

Keith freed his arm from Lance’s grip, but he did stop doing the pushups, settling on his knees. 

Lance blew out a breath. “I don’t know how we’ll manage, but we will. Something will turn up.”

Keith shifted but didn’t say anything.

“In the meantime, we need to help Shiro.”

“I know that!” Keith repeated more softly, “I know.” He tugged fitfully at the fur on his forearm. “Do you think… do you think it would help if we let him in our nest?”

Lance opened his mouth, then shut it. He hadn’t expected Keith to offer something like that after being so averse to having Shiro in the room earlier. 

“I thought that he probably misses his pack,” Keith continued. “He must have had an omega too, when he was with the fleet.”

“Probably.” He scratched the back of his neck. “It’s not because I wasn’t… enough, right?”

“No! You were more than enough.”

He relaxed, pleased, but couldn’t help teasing a little. “Oh? Do tell.”

Keith gave him a look. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossibly awesome? Guilty as charged.”

Keith snorted, but a little smile played around his mouth. 

*

When they emerged from the bedroom, they found Shiro in the kitchen, making some sort of pasta dish. Keith was sticking behind Lance’s back, and he could practically feel Keith’s embarrassment radiating off his body. Keith cringed when he caught sight of the earplugs on the table. 

Shiro was favoring his leg, but he offered them both a smile. “Hey.”

“So yeah, Keith’s heat is over,” Lance announced. He tugged Keith forward. “We bonded too.” 

“Lance,” Keith hissed, but since Lance couldn’t announce this fact to the universe or his family or even random people on the street, he was damn well going to announce it to Shiro.

“I can smell the change in your scents,” Shiro said. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Lance said, giving in to the urge to plant a loud kiss on Keith’s cheek. Keith’s ears went flat, and he wriggled out from under Lance’s arm. “Awww, babe,” Lance pouted.

Keith gave him an exasperated look but at Lance’s sad eyes, he huffed a breath and grabbed his hand, gripping it firmly. Lance hummed, happy.

Then he realized Shiro was watching them with a careful, blank expression, disguising whatever it was he was feeling. Keith noticed too, and he cleared his throat, tensing. 

“Shiro,” Keith began, in a stiff, awkward tone, “we think you should sleep in our nest tonight.”

The words didn’t penetrate for a moment, but then Shiro froze. His eyes flickered between them. “I thought Keith’s heat was over,” he said slowly.

“We didn’t mean it like that,” Lance said hastily. “I mean, not that you aren’t hot—super attractive—and nice. What omega wouldn’t want an alpha like you, right? Except, uh, us. In… in that way, at least. But cuddling—we’re super down for cuddling.”

“We thought you probably missed your pack,” Keith pressed on, dogged. 

“Oh,” Shiro said softly, and he cringed away a little, the fingers of his left hand curling in the fabric of his shirt, over his heart, as he bent his head. 

“Our nest is sooooo comfortable,” Lance continued. “It’s gotta be better than the couch.” 

“I’ll wake you up,” Shiro said, his head still bowed. “You know I have nightmares.”

Keith leaned over, stretching across the distance between them, and laid a tentative hand on Shiro’s arm, his other still clasped in Lance’s. “Maybe they’ll be better, if you’re with us.”

Shiro brushed Keith’s fingers with his own, as though confirming they were really there. “But you’re newly bonded.”

Lance shrugged. “Well, yeah, but we just spent two days straight having sex. I think we’re good for a night or two.” 

Keith gave him an appalled look. “You did not just say that in front of _Shiro_.”

Lance was about to reply that Shiro knew perfectly well what they had been doing, so why did it matter if he said it aloud, when Shiro laughed and then kept laughing, complete with a real smile. 

It was a sweet smile, just like Lance had thought it would be. 

Shiro took a deep breath. “I’d like that,” he said, and Lance squeezed Keith’s hand, victorious.

“Thanks,” Shiro added, and his scent flooded with gratitude and relief. It made Keith wriggle and purr, responding to the smell of an approving alpha, and Lance felt a dimmer echo of the same feeling. The both of them pushed up against Shiro, and he ruffled their hair and let them scent him. 

When he and Keith were doing the dishes after supper, Keith said quietly, so only Lance could hear, “Maybe this is our pack—you, me, and Shiro.” 

He sounded a little uncertain still—they’d only known Shiro a short time after all, and Keith had been wary of Shiro as an alpha. But Keith also sounded hopeful.

“Maybe,” Lance replied, thinking that he wanted Keith to have this—Keith, who had never had a family, who had been ostracized in the garrison because of his parentage, who would have been Thace’s second omega and thus unable to complete a bond with him—he wanted Keith to have lots of people who loved him, and who Keith could love in return. 

Including himself in that equation of course because he was Keith’s mate, and just thinking it made him giddy all over again, and he had to hug Keith around the waist, getting soap suds all over his shirt. But Keith didn’t complain about it, just leaned into him, indulgent, and answered Lance’s trill with a content purr.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait and that this chapter is rather short, but I figured a little bit was better than nothing

Shiro’s earliest memories were of space. The grey, lifeless surface of a moon hanging off the starboard side of their cruiser, and his mother’s fighter ship gliding past, painted in green and white symbols. The click of boots on the metal deck. His father pinning a strip of purple ribbon on Shiro’s jacket because the Emperor was paying their fleet a visit. 

His mother had been an omega pilot in the fighter squadron commanded by his alpha father. They had bred several times, but Shiro was the only kit who survived. The doctors ran the numbers and transferred his father to another cruiser and assigned him a new omega. They sent his mother to the frontier, and she survived twelve battles and shot down eighteen enemy ships before dying. 

Shiro was proud of both of his parents and their service to the Empire. But he didn’t remember their scents. There had never been a nest of soft blankets where he could curl up in his mother’s arms. He had spent most of his time in the ship’s creche with other kits, and then when he was old enough, he was sent to a preparatory school. 

So it felt strange and foreign to crawl into the pile of blankets and pillows, surrounded by the scents of omegas, and have two warm bodies settle on either side of him, Lance on his left, Keith on his right. 

Keith smelled… different, but that was probably because he was no longer in heat. And he and Lance were bonded now too. 

Shiro lay on his back, stiff and tense, his prosthetic arm particularly cold and heavy. 

“Keith steals the blankets, just to warn you,” Lance said. 

“I do not,” Keith contradicted, glaring at Lance over Shiro’s head. “And anyway, you kick.” 

“What are your bad sleeping habits?” Lance asked Shiro, and Shiro glanced at him. Lance was grinning, and his eyes were warm. 

“You know already,” Shiro said, looking back up at the ceiling. 

“The dreams? That’s not your fault.” Lance put a hand on his arm, and when Shiro did not pull away or protest, Lance’s chin followed, resting on his shoulder. “It’ll be better if you’re not sleeping alone. When I was little, my mom always let us sleep with her when we were having bad dreams because having safe scents around you helps.” 

“You didn’t grow up on a cruiser, then?”

“No, we lived on one of the colonies—there was an ocean and trees and everything. It was damn hard to get into the Garrison, coming from that. But I have _wicked_ flying and shooting skills—well, mostly shooting I guess. And it wasn’t like my parents didn’t have a sanctioned mating. They got matched at the local clinic and… and…”

Lance trailed off, going quiet, doubtless remembering that he and Keith couldn’t say the same. 

“Well my parents didn’t,” Keith put in, sounding fierce. “And Shiro said that was all right.”

“I didn’t mean it that way,” Lance said. “Of course I don’t think it’s wrong. Obviously.” He stretched a hand across Shiro’s body. “Don’t be mad, babe.”

After a tick, Keith took his hand. And then they left them there, clasped together, resting on Shiro’s abdomen. 

Shiro shut his eyes and put his left hand over theirs. 

Lance let out a happy little chirp and snuggled closer. A beat later, Keith shifted nearer to him too.

“You don’t have to,” Shiro said, keeping his eyes closed. “It—my arm—it can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s fine, Shiro. Don’t worry about it.” 

So he tried not to, tried to relax. Keith started purring, and he could feel the vibrations, the rhythm. Warm—and they were safe—Keith and Lance were safe and fed and tired, their scents no longer sour with fear and hurt, like when they first arrived. And they wanted him here with them. 

“My commander sent me out to investigate reports of Druid activity,” Shiro said.

Keith’s purrs stopped a moment and then resumed. Lance rubbed his cheek on Shiro’s shoulder, encouraging.

“My ship crashed. And I know the Druids found me. But that’s all I can remember. Every time I try to think about it, I get so… so scared. The next I knew, I was back on a cruiser, with this arm, and the doctor told me the Druids tortured me, that they’d have killed me if another Galra patrol hadn’t intercepted them. But…”

“But?” Lance prompted.

“What if—what if that isn’t what happened? What if the Druids didn’t torture me, like the doctors said?”

“Who else would have done it?” Keith asked, and Shiro was so relieved that they hadn’t laughed, hadn’t dismissed the very idea out of hand, that it took him a moment to answer, and then he could only say that he didn’t know.

“We fought them once, the Druids,” Lance said. “They were trying to harvest quintessence from a planet. They didn’t have guns or bombs, but they didn’t need them. It was like invisible, giant hands were reaching out and crumpling up all of our fighter ships, like you’d toss away a piece of paper.”

Shiro knew; he’d seen how the Druids could manipulate energy fields. They manipulated matter too, stretching the boundaries of their own bones and skins. They were probably the most advanced species in the universes. But to do it, they stole quintessence from planets, leaving them dead and lifeless. And they conducted experiments—horrific experiments. You were as good as dead, if you fell into their hands.

Or so he’d heard and believed. 

“Do you remember what they looked like?” Keith asked in a hushed voice.

Shiro shook his head. He didn’t know anyone who’d actually seen a Druid. It was impossible to penetrate the defenses of their ships to board one and take prisoners—the only way to defeat a Druid battleship was to blow it to hell and back again, leaving nothing. 

“What if…” Keith began, and then stopped. In a whisper, he finally said, “What if the Galra…”

What if they’d done this to him? His own commanders and Emperor. What if they were the ones who had tortured him, taken his memories, and then discarded him?

“But why?” Shiro asked, hating how small his voice sounded. “Why?”

Neither Lance nor Keith could answer that, of course. They fell silent, and Shiro at last fell asleep. He still dreamt, but each time he awoke, the scents of the omegas and the comfort of the nest surrounded him, and he drifted off again, knowing he wasn’t alone. 

*

Locals said the weather on Inlock IV was either raining or going to rain. Shiro hated the cold dampness that made his arm ache. He hadn’t wanted to venture out that day—he needed to rest if he wanted any chance of returning to the arena soon. But Lance and Keith had been adamant about wanting to search for some work—Lance optimistic, Keith grimly determined. So he’d taken them out, and then had to watch while shopkeepers and restaurant managers sneered at the two omegas. With Shiro there, they didn’t seem willing to do anything worse, but they always returned the same answer—no, they weren’t hiring anyone at the moment. 

Then they encountered a group of Galra from the fleet, and Lance and Keith knelt meekly down on the wet pavement. This time it was seven Galra, and Shiro knew it would be worse if he interfered, so he could only stand by, feeling sick.

Thankfully, the Galra contented themselves with checking their IDs and making a few derogatory remarks about half-breeds and omegas, although one of them did kick a splash of dirty water and lumps of mud at Keith as they left. 

Keith looked pale and furious, but Lance laughed it off and resorted to such ridiculous antics to try and get Keith to smile, that Keith finally succumbed. Shiro watched them lean into each other, scenting and crooning, and curled his metal hand into a fist, holding it so tight that the gears ground together. 

He hated feeling helpless.

But even Lance’s spirits flagged as the day wore on, with no luck. 

“Maybe we should head home,” Shiro suggested at last. “Try again tomorrow.”

“I guess so,” Lance sighed, peering down the street. “Hey—what’s that?” he said a second later, a note of excitement in his voice.

“It looks like a junkyard,” Keith said in a dull voice. 

“Yeah, but don’t you see it?” Lance grabbed Keith’s arm. “Look—over there, by the fence.”

Keith and Shiro looked.

“What, that old cooking unit?” Keith said, puzzled.

“No—farther back—underneath all those old pipes. It’s a _ship_.”

As they drew closer, Shiro eventually was able to distinguish the form of an old cargo hauler—a hunk of rusted metal in amongst all the other rusted metal. It had faded blue paint on the sides.

“That’s it!” Lance grabbed the fence links, popping up on his toes to try and get a better view. “Keith, if we fixed it, we could start hauling cargo. You could fly again!” 

Keith looked very dubious, but seemed unwilling to crush Lance’s excitement by pointing out that they’d still need someone to hire them for jobs.

“Lance,” Shiro said, and he put a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “We don’t have the kind of money it would take to repair it.” 

Lance waved a hand. “It might not be so bad—those older models could take a lot of punishment. Clean off the rust, maybe a new fuel cell or two, and she’d be good as new. Let’s go see if we can get a closer look.”

“It’s okay, Shiro,” Keith said as Lance bounded off toward the gate and a squat building with a light on in one window. “It’s easier to let him try than to argue about it. He’ll come to his senses sooner or later.”

So they trudged after Lance and arrived just as the door of the squat building opened in response to Lance’s knocks. An older man emerged. He had pointed ears and one of the most exuberant mustaches Shiro had ever seen. 

He noticed the tattoos on Keith and Lance’s faces immediately, judging by the flicker in his eyes. But his voice was kind when he spoke. “What is it, lad?” he asked Lance. “Thought you were trying to knock down my door with the way you were banging on it.”

Lance drew in a deep breath, his eyes shining. “I want to fly your ship!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to say a big thank you to everyone who has left comments on this fic--I know it can be hard to keep leaving comments on a wip, but they really do give me the motivation to keep going with a story and always make my day brighter. :)


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